


I Don't Care How We Get There

by MajorEnglishEsquire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Feels, Possibly Pre-Slash, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is heading out on a hunt of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Care How We Get There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anythingtoasted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/gifts).



> It takes place some nebulous time after [08.23 Sacrifice](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=8.23_Sacrifice).
> 
> I do not own the rights to these characters, setting, show, etc. No harm is intended.

They've kept Cas off-duty for a while, now, so Dean knew this was coming. Castiel just wouldn't stand for it. Sam and Dean would go off and track an angry ex-angel or hear about a rising nest of demons emboldened by their failure to shut the gates and they'd have to go. _Just_ them. _Just_ Sam and Dean.

It wasn't that they thought Cas weak or useless. It wasn't that they couldn't trust him. It wasn't that he didn't know how to fight properly without his celestial powers attached.

Though, it was a _little bit_ of those things. And another rather big thing.

Dean actually had to put down his bread knife when he thought about it. The shaking seemed to fall from his shoulder to his elbow to the backs of his knuckles and his fingers would shiver with a cold recollection: Cas's destroyed face, bloodied coat, empty vessel, no breath to brush across the back of Dean's hand. Cas laid out on the floor.

Letting Cas go out on his own might lead to that. He might not check in one day. They'll have to drop what they're doing.

Dean shakes his head.

Dropping what he's doing won't be the issue by then. He knows exactly how wound up he'll be without Cas around. He _will_ drop what he's doing. He'll follow a cold trail. He'll search empty alleys for weeks. He'll interview the numberless homeless. The wanderers. The Fallen. Try to catch Cas's scent again.

He's sure. So sure. That he'll find Cas stabbed for his few bucks in cash on a riverbank. His body curled into some corner of a warehouse: Empty, bled out, bones of his fingers still grasping at a too-wide abdominal wound. Dean will find his empty vessel, head lolling, dead for sure, strapped with common, everyday rope and duct tape, to a wooden chair in a squatter's house, tortured by some _hunter_ and--

It's pre-dawn. Dean puts everything down. Makes a coffee. Takes it outside to watch the sun rise. He does nothing for about a half hour, then, when he can't see empty eyes and skin and Cas all alone and in pain behind his eyes, he goes back inside to his task.

Dean is gonna let him go. He's not even going to follow. And he's still not going to be happy about it. But Castiel wants to find some of his brothers and see if they can be led back into shelter, maybe folded back into a family again.

Something's screaming inside of Dean. Because he doesn't _know why_. Because _this_ is fucking _family_. Because what they each need is right here, at home, between them.

He has another cup of coffee on an empty stomach. When everything's ready, it doesn't appear quite done yet. He leans a hip against the counter and sips caffeine and occasionally bites his bottom lip.

He finds Sam's well-hidden drawer of markers and highlighters. Dean smiles for a moment because Sam had always put in a really great effort to not wake up with Sharpie dicks all over his face. He'll find another hiding spot. The bunker must be full of drawers Dean will never find.

Dean returns with them to the kitchen.

«»

Sam hangs back, leaning against the stair railing down to the bunker. He's got a lot of faith in Cas.

Always has.

And he trusts him to come back to them in one piece.

What Sam _doesn't_ trust is that Dean's gonna let Cas go. So he said his goodbyes back in the main room and followed them up, knowing they'd want privacy to be haltingly polite to each other and awkward just one more time and gruffly emotional and he's not giving a shit. He has to stand here and make sure that Dean actually _lets Cas leave_. He has to be ready to step in if it turns into some desperation-fueled rant about how, obviously, Cas can't take care of himself. Is gonna get himself and others killed. (Is gonna leave Dean all alone again.)

So damn Dean's impatient flash of eyes back at him. Sam raises his chin and watches. Waits.

Finally, Dean leans down into the open window of Cas's stolen red Ford. It's in great condition for a car so old. Had to be for Dean to let Cas go out on his own in it. Dean had changed the oil himself and _bought Cas an actual GPS_. He didn't force him to learn how to read maps 'like a man.' He made sure Cas had water bottles in the passenger seat and spare ammo in the glove box. (No mention of how he'd turned the GPS on Castiel's phone on. Or signed up for the warranty for the TomTom so he could track that, too.)

The trunk is all packed. Cas's own blades and guns. His own flannels and jackets.

The car isn't started yet. Cas looks, blank-faced at the dirt road leading away from the bunker, laid out long and lightening in front of him. Dean had insisted he drive during the day only. Dean had planned for him to leave by 8 a.m. Monday morning. Dean made a goal for him to be back by Wednesday. Friday at the latest.

Finally Cas looks up at him from behind the wheel.

"I'll be back," is all he says.

"You'll be _careful_ ," is all Dean can choke out. For a long moment he lets Cas watch him try to suppress overwhelming worry. Heartache. Resistance. Finally he can push enough air down his throat to point to the floor below the passenger seat and say, "There's some food in there--"

"I ate breakfast," Cas is quick to remind him. He's been on notice about feeding himself ever since he showed up. He's had to assure Dean all day that he's eaten all he's supposed to.

"You ate toast," Dean corrects. "You didn't have _any_ protein." Dean presses his lips together. "Anyway. That's lunch, for when you need it. Stop for dinner, too. And pull over when you get tired."

"Dean," he says quietly. "I know."

Dean could break his teeth his jaw snaps shut so tightly. So he just nods. Slaps the door frame one more time. And backs himself off. He stands next to Sam as Cas looks down and starts the car and starts driving away. Then he's suddenly not next to Sam. He's already back in the bunker. Sam walks up a little and traces the red car down until it hits the blacktop, then turns and moves off. East.

He doesn't find Dean inside with a drink when he goes back in, which he had kind of expected.  
Just the closed, silent door to Dean's room, with Dean behind it.

«»

When Cas reaches the Lebanon town limits, he hits a crossroads. He looks away in front of him. He looks to the north. The south. He remembers so many streaking down, in all directions. They're everywhere. He'd stumble across them even if he weren't actively looking for them.

This is an arbitrary choice. He picks south.

The first big town he reaches, he doesn't stop in. He keeps going. Maybe he'll drive to his limits today. Maybe he'll pick a city far south and work backwards, back towards home.

It's not lunch yet, but with some of the turns and stops he's made, the large brown paper grocery bag down below the dashboard has shifted into view a few times. He pulls off to the side of the road. Just a field. Just middle-of-nowhere Kansas, past Wellington, almost Oklahoma. No cars. No farmers. Just him and a wide expanse and the looming steel of irrigation equipment.

He turns the car off and is in the quiet of the late morning.

Cas reaches down below the passenger seat and hefts the bag up. It must have a lot in it. Enough for both lunch and dinner, knowing Dean's appetite.

The bag itself is curious. There is a cartoon bear, a giraffe, a lion, a tyrannosaurus, a tiger, birds, a triceratops. The drawings seem slightly childish. Or youthful. Or inexperienced. The wide-mouthed bear with too many teeth is especially amusing. The dinosaurs seem inappropriate to the whole motif but are equally enjoyable.

He's careful not to rip the bag folding it open.

He was correct in assuming there'd be a lot of food. Multiple sandwiches on Dean's thick, fluffy home-made bread.

The crusts cut off.  
Just because Cas likes them that way.

There are packets of peanut butter crackers. Mini-bags of chips. Cans of soda. Toasted pumpkin seeds. A bag of grapes is getting warm so he removes it. They'll be easy to eat as he drives.

When he lifts the bag of fruit, it's to reveal a single-serving box of cereal and a bundle of napkins. He is going to fold the bag back up and stow it again when he notices that it looks like there's writing.

He pulls out the roll of paper napkins and the top one has a smiley face on it. He smiles in kind and pulls it from the stack to use. But the next one has a different happy face scrawled on it. And the next one. And the next one. And all the other ten in the stack. Until he gets to the last. Which has writing on it.

It reads: "Cas. You're doing a good job. Have a good day. Be safe."

(He wipes his fingers off on his jeans for four days. Dean helps him do his laundry when he gets home.)

**Author's Note:**

>  **[This is all because pastrymisha/anythingtoasted laughed at me](http://pastrymisha.tumblr.com/post/53615644636/majorenglishesquire-answered-your-post-hey-u).**  
> [A little bit of accompaniment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LStLzhM3P5M).


End file.
